


Delayed Gratification

by creamycat (0shadow_panther0)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (only spoilers are for claude's s-support epilogue), Begging, F/M, Gentle femdom, Hair-pulling, Post Epilogue, Praise Kink, Reunion Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 23:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0shadow_panther0/pseuds/creamycat
Summary: They’re both absolutely filthy but neither of them care, stripping off clothes and armor with desperate hands, distracting themselves from the task with hot, melting kisses.Byleth sighs into his mouth. “Too many layers,” she murmurs, untying his sash.“Delayed gratification?” he suggests, even as he grapples with his pauldron and cape, throwing them carelessly aside, too breathless to sound cheeky.Byleth and Claude have spent far too much time apart for being so desperately in love as they are. Claude wants to remedy that.





	Delayed Gratification

**Author's Note:**

> apparently theres only like one person writing femdommy claude smut so i decided i gotta pull my weight and contribute.

“You made me wait,” are the first words he hears, smooth and level.

He grins. “Nothing like a little delayed gratification to make our reunion sweeter.”

Byleth flicks her wrist, blood splattering onto the ground, then sheathes the Sword of the Creator. “I’m impatient.”

Claude barks a laugh. As if she isn’t the pinnacle of composure.

Failnaught is unstrung and holstered, his wyvern directed back to camp for care, and the two of them pick their way through the bodies of the Imperial soldiers that litter the ground.

There had already been a dozen soldiers surrounding her when Claude found her, a one woman army, her sword a whirlwind as she faced the remnants of the Empire head on.

Truth be told, he had been tempted to watch from the skies. Byleth is enchanting when she fights, even more so when she’s taking on a seemingly impossible battle and _winning_—but his conscience led him to divebomb the Imperial soldiers, and the look on her face when he did—

Her expressions are few and far between as it is. The shock and awe in her eyes as he dropped from the heavens like a shooting star—he’ll keep that memory close to his heart for the rest of his life.

They pass by Derdriu soldiers still licking their wounds, accompanied by the Almyran forces that Claude had brought. Supplies are plenty, and casualties, while present, are fewer than a near-loss would expect. He suspects they have Byleth to thank for that—half the Imperial army seemed to target her alone, and all met the same fate.

All that aside, Byleth still looks exhausted. Exhausted for her, at least. Even with her head held high, the shadows smeared under her eyes are dark and bruised—he doesn’t even want to know how long she’s gone without sleep. She putting up an admirable front. As queen, she needs to.

Seteth lands in front of them, the man practically leaping off his wyvern to attend to Byleth. She waves him off as best she can, considering she’s covered in dirt and blood. He barely gives Claude a second glance, and the latter tries not to be too miffed about it.

It takes a direct order from the queen for Seteth to reluctantly back off, as well as no small amount of plying his weakness for Flayn to get him off their backs.

He glances up at the castle, a towering monument in the center of the capital. He smiles. “Shall we go somewhere a little more private?”

* * *

Her quarters are lavishly rich, finery and decadence so abundant that Claude wonders how a post-war Fodlan could even scrape up the resources to furnish the place.

“Tacky,” he comments, dragging a finger on the silk drapes of the massive bed.

She releases a huff of air that he interprets as a laugh.

“I don’t use this place often,” she says. “I’m too used to mercenary life.”

“Bed’s too soft?” he guesses, grinning when she sends an exasperated glance over her shoulder.

He’s so distracted by the novelty of seeing her face again that he almost misses the wince that crosses her face as she turns.

“Hold on,” he says, reaching for her hand. “Are you hurt?”

She exhales slowly, gaze dropping to their intertwined fingers. “Just a little. It’s nothing to worry about.”

He scoffs. “You say that like Seteth wouldn’t have my head if he knew I let you prance around injured like this.”

There’s a tiny huff of laughter. “Seteth would have your head for a lot more than that.”

Claude grins. “What? You mean something like this?”

He ducks down and presses a kiss to her mouth, cupping her cheek with a gloved hand. She smiles into it, eyes closing as she sighs into his closeness.

Their chasteness only lasts for a few moments, the kiss growing deeper and rougher as their reunion sinks in.

She tangles her fingers in his hair, nails scraping his scalp in a way that sends tingles down his spine, then fists her hand and _pulls_.

“T-Teach—!” he chokes out, and Byleth huffs.

“Still with that nickname?” she asks.

His smile is a little shakier than before. “Do you prefer ‘Your Majesty?’”

She twists her wrist and forces his head back for his brazenness, baring his neck, and she nips at the sliver of skin above his collar.

The air rushes out of his lungs like he’s been hit, and he shivers as a faint pressure builds around his throat as Byleth tugs at his cravat.

She guides him back with a gentle but insistent hand on his chest, and he obediently gives ground until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he falls with a soft noise. Byleth leans one knee against the mattress, catching his chin with her forefinger and thumb.

“Good boy,” she murmurs, eyes boring into his, and suddenly he’s seventeen again, lapping up her praise like he’s starving for it.

At least, he thinks hazily, he doesn’t have to retreat to his room to shamefully fist his cock anymore. Judging by her roaming hands, Byleth has that taken care of.

They’re both absolutely filthy but neither of them care, stripping off clothes and armor with desperate hands, distracting themselves from the task with hot, melting kisses.

Byleth sighs into his mouth. “Too many layers,” she murmurs, untying his sash.

“Delayed gratification?” he suggests, even as he grapples with his pauldron and cape, throwing them carelessly aside, too breathless to sound cheeky.

Claude manages to tear off her robes as she rips open his—admittedly already ruined—shirt, and he skims his fingers over her ribs, grazing the undersides of her breasts.

The mottled bruise over her side makes him pause. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asks, tracing the edge of the darkened skin. “Looks like that hurts.”

“I’m fine,” she says, leaning down and mouthing a kiss against his neck, and he makes a low, pleased sound.

Byleth exhales sharply, pushing his shoulders until he falls back, then ducks down to nip at his throat, and a broken sound claws its way out of his mouth, turning high and keening when she uses her teeth and _bites_.

She runs her tongue over the indents when he starts to whine, then pulls away just long enough for him to struggle out of his shirt and start to kick off his pants and smalls. He snarls when his boots get caught and kicks hard enough to fling them against the wall.

Byleth makes a low, chiding sound, turning to survey the damage. There are twin spots of dirt and blood on the wall, the boots in a crumpled heap beneath them.

He tugs her back in for another kiss to regain her attention, pawing insistently at her shorts.

“C’mon,” he mumbles against her mouth. “It’s not really fair for me to be the only one exposed like this.”

“You’re one to talk about fair,” she replies, lips curling into the faintest smile, but obliges readily, hooking her thumbs around the waistband and tugging shorts, tights, and smallclothes alike off in one motion.

They’re both wonderfully, pleasingly bare now, and Claude’s first order of business is to pull her on top of him, pressing her body against his to soak up her intoxicating heat.

She straddles him obligingly, running her hands over his shoulders as she kisses him, hot and full.

His cock has been hard and aching for a shamefully long time, despite never being touched this whole encounter, and he’s starting to think that might have been deliberately done as Byleth trails kisses down his chest, grinding against his bare stomach. The breath rushes out of him, hands finding her her thighs and squeezing.

She hums thoughtfully, pulling back to study her handywork. There’s a line of darkened splotches running from his collarbone to the end of his sternum, and his brain is working overtime to come up with a witty line. His thoughts end abruptly as she leans back down and catches a nipple in her teeth, and he gasps as the pressure tightens until the pleasure is edged with pain.

She laps at the reddened skin apologetically, and Claude reins back a whimper, hands roaming the smooth curve of her thighs.

“I want to hear you,” she says, and he has half a moment to process her words before she shifts back and grinds against his neglected cock.

He couldn’t have stopped the noise he makes if his life depended on it, a long, high moan escaping his mouth as Byleth drags her cunt against him. She’s wet enough that she leaves smears of arousal across his skin.

She sighs as she braces her hands against his chest and arches her back, sliding her clit across the ridge of his crown. She’s making these low, soft sounds, barely louder than her breathing, and Claude is intoxicated by them.

“M-more,” he manages. Then, “_Please_.”

“Impatient,” Byleth says, the teasing lilt of her voice by his ear sending a fresh wave of heat through his belly. “Whatever happened to delayed gratification?”

He whimpers needily in response, bucking up into her.

She slides off his body before he gets far, kneeling between his spread legs, and the sudden chill is enough to make him shiver.

He trembles for a different reason when she ducks down to mouth at his hipbone, her fingers brushing feather-light up his thighs. One hand drifts up, brushing against the smooth skin just behind his sac, and Claude makes a breathless, questioning whine.

Byleth’s lips wrap around the head of his cock the same time her fingers press, gentle but insistent, into the tender skin.

He lets out a strangled yelp, hips bucking up and head falling back.

She presses a little harder, and Claude squirms as stuttered moans fall from his mouth. He can’t tell if he’s trying to escape the pressure or increase it. It’s a slower kind of heat, one that spreads up his belly and makes him twitch.

His cock is dripping precum like it’s leaking with it, and Byleth laps it up like it’s a delicacy to be savored.

She pulls away just as Claude considers begging, tongue swiping across her lips like she’s finished a particularly sweet dessert. “You like that?” she asks lowly, thumb massaging the crease where his thigh meets hip.

He nods frantically.

She laughs softly. “Perhaps we’ll go further next time.”

She runs her tongue over his cock from base to tip before he can question her, and he throws his arms over his face, biting into his forearm to muffle the shrill moan that threatens to bubble up from his chest.

She sighs, cool breath ghosting over his burning skin. “I thought,” she says, “I told you that I wanted to hear you.”

She leans forward, tugging his hands down, then pins his wrists above his head. Her hair tickles his face, pale eyes lidded. This close, he can see the faint flush across her cheeks and the glimmer in her sea-glass eyes.

She presses a kiss to his pliant lips, gentler and softer than before, but somehow he feels even more vulnerable like this than when her mouth was on his cock. Arms pinned, he feels… exposed.

He doesn’t expect it to feel so _good_.

Byleth shifts, keeping his wrists restrained with one hand as the other dips into her dripping slit. She rocks against the heel of her palm as she presses two fingers inside her, a tiny noise of satisfaction reaching his ears.

He struggles against her grip, and half-hearted as it is, the endeavor is entirely fruitless.

In that moment, he decides he’s not above begging at all.

“Byleth,” he gasps, arching his back. “Please, _please_—”

“‘Please’ what?”

“_Please fuck me_—!”

She smiles, warm and smug all at once, and withdraws her hand from her slit. She brings her slick fingers to his mouth, and he opens without needing to be told, lapping her own arousal from her skin.

“Good boy,” she praises again, and he shivers.

Her grip on the base of his erection and his newly freed hands are the only warning he gets before she leans back and guides his cock into her.

He fists his hand in the sheets, and if he had any sort of presence of mind he might have been worried about ripping them.

She’s hot and wet and the whine that escapes him would have been embarrassing if he wasn't feeling so _good_.

She hums, low and satisfied, and starts to move in earnest, thighs tensing around his hips as she grinds down against him.

“C-close,” Claude pants, barely resisting the urge to thrust up into her. The rhythm she sets is sending him barreling toward his climax, riled as he is.

Byleth hums thoughtfully, coaxing one of his hands away from its white-knuckled grip in the sheets and towards her dripping cunt. She guides his fingers to her clit, exhaling softly as he receives the unspoken command and starts to stroke.

She tugs him upright to kiss him, breathy, murmured praises whispered against his mouth as he continues his ministrations, fingers carding through his hair. Her pace speeds up as she chases her own pleasure, rocking almost roughly against his hips.

Suddenly, she shudders, clenching around him. Her hand fists in his hair, and she finds the juncture of his neck with her teeth and _bites_.

The blooming pain combined with her own climax is enough to push him over the edge with a ragged shout, back arching and making no attempt to muffle his cry.

She rides him through it, hips rolling against his until he’s whimpering with the sensation, their combined cum dripping down their thighs.

Claude flops back with an exhausted groan, flushed and panting. Byleth follows him down, his cock slipping out of her as she lays beside him, head tucked on his shoulder.

She looks up at him, pale eyes bright. “Worth the wait?”

“Mm. I’m not sure. Might need a repeat performance.”

She snorts. Like he’s in any shape to do anything.

She glances down at the mess between her thighs and hums. “I’ll need to ask Seteth to bring some contraceptive tea in the morning.”

Claude grimaces. “It’s like you want him to kill me,” he mumbles. Then, “Also, please don’t talk about Seteth in our bed. I’m pretty sure he’s still pining for you.”

She arches a brow. “‘Our’ bed already, hm?”

He huffs a laugh. “After what we did to it, I don’t think anyone else will want it.” He grins, leaning over to mouth a kiss against her collar. “Also, I can think of plenty other pieces of furniture to make ‘ours.’”

“That ‘repeat performance’ might have to wait,” she replies dryly.

He smirks against her skin. “Actually,” he murmurs, “I have quite a few ideas.”

He slips out from under her, crawling down to lap at the mess of arousal between her thighs.

Her startled gasp and her hand in his hair makes the exhaustion all worth it.


End file.
